Secrets and Pain
by K Hanna Korossy
Summary: The Bad Seed tag: Dean may be the one who was beaten up, but Sam's the one who's hurting.


**Secrets & Pain**  
**K Hanna Korossy**

Maybe it was that he was able to breathe through his blood-clogged nose again. Or that his chest didn't ache with every inhale. Something got through even his dead sleep, and Dean surged awake just as Cas was lifting two fingers off his forehead.

He didn't need to sit up to feel that he was healed. No more scab pulling at his lip, ice-pick headache, throbbing kidneys and grating ribs.

Son of a bitch.

He gave Cas a fierce look. "I told you, I didn't want—"

"—to be healed. I know. But I don't believe you…had it coming. And anyway, Sam overruled you."

Dean threw back the blankets and dropped his feet to the floor. He was not appreciating that even his bad knee didn't complain about the movement, no way. "Sam's not the boss of me!"

Cas just looked at him blandly. They both knew what a whopper that was. Especially since Dean outvoted his brother regularly about Sam's well-being, too.

"Where is he?" Dean seethed. Might as well direct his irritation at the source. He was already out of his room and heading for Sam's when Cas's answer reached him.

"In the gym."

Dean immediately changed direction, but his frown deepened. The gym? Last Dean had seen, Sam was stumbling to bed, same as Dean. They'd yet to really recover from Dean shedding the Mark and all that entailed, when they'd had to track down Rowena to fix Cas. They were both running on empty. Dean was still fuming over Sam not having told him about his deal to kill Crowley in exchange for Rowena's help with the Mark, not to mention what that bitch had done to Cas, but Dean had dropped into sleep the moment his head hit the pillow. He couldn't imagine Sam, coming off weeks of strain over the Mark spell, was doing any better.

The pounding was audible even as Dean approached the gym door, and he slowed a little. Okay, that made more sense. They both went down to whale on the bag sometimes when they had frustration to burn. God knows Sam had enough to work out in that ginormous brain. Like _forgetting _to tell his brother something important _yet again_.

Grimacing, he slapped the gym door open. And stopped, anger draining away.

Sam was indeed going to town on the punching bag like it was Cain, Rowena, and Amara rolled into one. Sweat flew from his hair with every blow, and he was breathing like he was at the end of a marathon. But that wasn't what stole Dean's air like he'd been punched.

Sam was fighting bare-knuckled. Knuckles that had long split open, splattering his hands, the bag, and the floor beneath them red.

"Sam!" he barked, appalled, drawing closer. "What the—"

Sam stopped at the sound of his name and stepped back to look at Dean. There was no shame in his eyes at being caught in his masochistic exercise, nor defiance. Just a blank confusion that kicked Dean's worry even higher.

Crap. Here he'd been raging against Sam in his head all this time, forgetting that Sam was far better at punishing himself than Dean would ever be. Especially when lives had been lost, like in Superior.

"Dean? What—?"

"Dude." He reached the bag and stopped its sway with one hand, avoiding the blood. "What did your hands ever do to you?"

Sam glanced down at them, and his blink of surprise told Dean he hadn't even realized he was pulping himself. Awesome.

"Cas!" Dean hollered. He could've whispered it, really: Castiel still seemed tuned to "prayers." But Dean wanted to convey how extra urgent this was. Then he took Sam's wrists in his hands, thick sinew and bone now, but he remembered their smallness and bird-like fragility once upon a time, when Dean could still make everything right for his little brother. "What's goin' on, Sammy?" he asked quietly.

Sam was just starting to get his breath back, but his mouth was still opening and closing on nothing. "I don't…"

"Yeah, that's what kinda worries me, bro," Dean agreed, just as Cas hurried through the door. "Can you fix up Sam, too?" he redirected his words to the angel.

"It's fine." Sam halfheartedly tried to tug free of Dean's grip.

_I had it coming, _Dean had said just hours before in the library, when Sam had asked Cas to heal Dean. He'd meant in exchange for pounding on Cas under the Mark's influence, but Dean had seen Sam wince at his words. He hadn't given it another thought then; God knew they'd both made mistakes those last few days.

However, his being all tough and stubborn was different from letting Sam do the same. Especially when Sam still had that wounded, baffled look in his eyes, like he couldn't figure out how they got there.

Cas, to his credit, didn't ask any questions. He just limped over and did his thing, and in seconds, Dean was cradling two clean, whole paws in his palms. Too bad Cas couldn't do that with minds, too.

"Thanks, Cas," he said, his eyes still on Sam, and was even more grateful when Cas left with only a deep sigh.

They stood there for long moments, Sam's hands still in his. It wasn't even weird.

Dean finally cleared his throat. "I had a chance to kill Crowley."

A beat, then Sam looked up at him. There was such exhaustion in his eyes, such defeat, it turned Dean's stomach.

"Back at Jenna's," he went on. "I had the blade; I could've done it. I thumbtacked his hand to the wall instead."

"Why?" Sam asked just as quietly.

"I don't know," Dean answered, honest. "Same reason we let Meg keep breathing, or whatever it is demons do. It's complicated. And we're ten kinds of messed up."

Sam snorted a laugh. "You're not wrong."

"I don't like the secrets and lies, you know that. I keep thinking we're over that, and then something…" He trailed off, thoughtful, until he felt Sam tug at his hands. But Dean didn't let go, just met his eyes. "But everything that happened was pretty messed up, too. And in case I haven't said it…thank you." Off Sam's wondering look, he continued, "Thanks for not giving up on saving me from the Mark."

Sam's expression turned all emotional.

Which was Dean's cue to let go of his hands. Even as Sam slowly lowered them, Dean pointed to him. "But no more 'repeating crap,' okay? Like you said, we gotta change. Let what's dead stay dead."

Sam's mouth hitched up a little. "Yeah. Of course."

Dean heaved a sigh. "We're both gonna do this again, aren't we."

"Probably," Sam admitted without shame.

It should've bothered him more than it did. But they had learned from the past: Sam wouldn't let him go to an eternity of being alone with the Mark, but maybe he'd let him die one day. Maybe if it destroyed the Darkness, too. And maybe, Dean would do the same.

Maybe.

"You ready to get some sleep now?" he asked Sam, heading for the exit.

"Depends. You gonna hold my hand?"

He let the door swing back into Sam's stupid grinning face.

That'd show him.

**The End**


End file.
